


Caught Red-Handed

by Wolfheart



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Psychopaths, Angst, Blood, Gen, Murder, Non-Graphic Violence, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-08
Updated: 2012-02-08
Packaged: 2017-10-30 19:40:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/335362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfheart/pseuds/Wolfheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pre-slash/General; Sam catches Dean trying to sneak back into the motel room at an odd hour in the early morning. The sinking feeling in his gut tells him that the bar isn't the only place Dean's been tonight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caught Red-Handed

**Author's Note:**

> To further clarify on the tags, there's blood, mentions of murder & torture, sociopath!Dean/twisted!Dean, and large amounts of anguish in this story. Note that there isn't any torture being placed upon Sam in this story. There's not any true pairing in this story, but it can be seen as pre-slash. If I do continue this 'verse, there will be wincest in it. However, this oneshot does not. This story takes place in Season One before "Skin" (1x06) but after "Bloody Mary" (1x05).
> 
> In this verse that I've randomly created, Dean has become a little twisted after Sam left for Stanford. Two years can really change a person and for Dean, sometimes those changes can be disastrous. Thus, twisted/sociopath!Dean! :D Ahaha~ I kind of want to create more for this verse. I have a few ideas in mind, but I guess we'll see if this kicks off or not. In the meantime, enjoy~

 

The moment Sam felt himself being pulled out of consciousness, he knew he wasn’t going to want to wake up. The motel air was stale, his body felt clammy, and his blood ran cold. However, the more he tried to will himself the sleep, the further he woke up. A groan caught in his throat when he heard the bedroom door being opened. Although his back was to the door, he knew it was Dean. He also knew it was an odd hour of the night, considering that Sam had gone to bed at midnight and could tell by his inner alarm clock that the sun was yet to come up. Had Dean just gotten back from the bar? Just now? A sinking feeling in his gut told him that the bar wasn’t the only place Dean had been.

  
The door quietly click behind Dean as the man tried to maneuver himself into the room as quietly as possible. As Sam listened to his brother’s quiet steps, he debated whether or not he should roll over and meet his brother face to face. In all honesty, he really didn’t want to. At the same time though, he knew he was going to have to. Luckily, he hadn’t had any death visions in the middle of the night, but it looked like his sleep was going to get interrupted anyway. When Sam finally did slowly roll over, he watched as his brother made his way to the bathroom instead of the bed. There was a growing dread inside of him as he stared at his brother’s back in the dim lighting.  
  
Before Dean could reach up to turn on the bathroom light, Sam called out, “Dean.”  
  
The man stopped dead in his tracks, and Sam watched as the other’s body froze up. He had not planned on Sam waking up when he came back into the motel. That much was obvious. Unease tightened Sam’s stomach then because he had a good idea as to why. When Dean didn’t move right away, Sam pressed a little sterner, “Dean. Look at me.”  
  
The moment Dean began to slowly pan around to face him, Sam could feel his grip on the bed sheets tighten. Anger jolted inside of the youngest the moment his hazel eyes fell over Dean’s figure. Even though the darkness of the room, Sam could see how a certain liquid substance was dripping gradually from Dean’s hands to the thin, already stained carpet below. Only to confirm it further, Sam sharply scooted over on the bed to enable himself to reach out and turn on the lamp that rested on the nightstand nearby. As soon as the light flicked on and cast a dim glow through the room, Dean’s eyes snapped shut at the change in lighting and flinched. Whether he flinched out of natural discomfort or because he was caught, Sam wasn’t sure. No, Sam didn’t care.  
  
Red was smeared all over Dean’s coarse hands, fingers, and wrists. Sam could even see a few soaked patches on Dean’s dark sea-green shirt underneath his leather jacket that tried to cover the evidence. The vice he held on the bed covers was tight enough to be painful as Sam’s knuckles turned white. Although he wasn’t sure if his distress was showing through on the outside, Sam could feel his insides trembling with fury. His eyebrows pressed down against the tops of his eyelids as he challenged bitterly, “That’s not your blood.”  
  
That statement was in no way unsure. Sam knew good and well that Dean wasn’t injured. He knew then that his gut feeling had been right all along when he was waking up earlier. The bar wasn’t the only place Dean had been. Dean’s complete silence and unreadable expression was only throwing more coal into the fire. Utter disgust passed over Sam as he stared at Dean’s stone cold look. Sam didn’t even bother trying to keep the vile out of his tone when he began to fume.  
  
“What is _wrong_ with you?!” Sam bellowed. “Only going to go to the bar, my ass!”  
  
Dean watched him cautiously. He rolled out his shoulders as he straightened up some. It wasn’t seen as a challenge, and it wasn’t supposed to. A frown tugged down his lips as he freely took Sam’s reprimand. Although Sam was too furious to take much notice, Dean’s tensed figure and fidgety hands were signs of a perhaps shame. Still, the inner feeling was either too faint or too hidden to reach Dean’s facial features. On the outside, it didn’t really look like he cared much.  
  
“So, who was it this time?” Sam barked with a sour, half laugh. “Some guy waiting at the bus stop, a woman going home from the bar, or some kid waiting for their--?”  
  
Sam stopped himself as a queasy feeling suddenly washed over him. His voice wavered as he choked out, “Do you _do_ this to children?”  
  
Sam shook his head and didn’t wait for an answer. The worst part about it was that Dean probably wouldn’t have answered anyway. “You know what? Never mind. I don’t want to know, Dean.”  
  
The covers were shoved back as Sam moved to drape his legs off the edge of the bed. When Sam bent down to start putting his shoes on, Dean’s frown deepened as his eyes narrowed slightly. His voice was so low when he spoke it was almost inaudible. “Where are you going?”  
  
“Oh, so now I have to tell you where I’m going after you lied about your whereabouts?” Sam quipped with a scornful smile.  
  
Worry flickered across Dean’s face, but Sam didn’t acknowledge it or look up at him again as he continued to put his shoes on. The man rose to his feet, grabbed his dufflebag, tossed it onto the bed, and unzipped it. It wasn’t until Sam walked over to the table in the room to snatch up his laptop that Dean realized like a cold punch to the gut that Sam was packing. Yet, emotions still didn’t quite reach his voice when he gulped, “Sam?”  
  
As Sam shoved his laptop into his bag and continued to pack, he reminded with a disbelieving grin on his face, “You said you were just going to the bar, Dean. You said it, and I _believed_ you. Ha! I thought maybe just once I could get a decent amount of sleep. Oh, you know, with the nightmares and still trying to get passed how bad it hurts knowing that Jess is _dead!_ ”  
  
Sam moved across the room to make his way to the bathroom to get some more supplies. It was almost too easy sidestepping past Dean, who only continued to watch him without a word. The fluorescent lights of the bathroom clicked on, but the faint buzzing of the lights were drown out by Sam’s strained ranting. “But no! If that’s not enough, I have to worry about who my big brother is going to string up next! What the hell is the point in saving people if you’re going to _murder_ innocents at random, Dean?!”  
  
“You weren’t there,” Dean stressed quietly.  
  
Sam rolled his eyes as he shoved passed Dean again to fling shampoo bottles into his bags. “Oh, _right_ , because me leaving for Stanford gives you the _right_ ,” Sam icily retorted.  
  
Bitterness flickered in Dean’s eyes. As his bloody hands tightened into fists, he growled, “Dad was--.”  
  
“ _Dad_ ,” Sam interrupted. “Didn’t make you start _killing_ people, Dean!”  
  
Dean huffed sourly and shook his head in silent disagreement with his brother. After Sam threw on his coat, he whipped the dufflebag zipper closed and tossed the bag over his shoulder. He stood there for a moment, staring at Dean and readjusting the strap. Rage was still driving him, but it wouldn’t be long before it shriveled away. He’d probably get as far as the bus stop before utter pain and grief filled the empty spaces.  
  
Although he wasn’t yelling anymore, Sam’s voice was dangerously low when he told Dean, “I went off to Standford for two years. I wanted to get away from this, Dean. Then you rolled into town asking for my help, my girlfriend... _burned_  on the ceiling because of that damn demon, Dad’s still no where to be found, and I find you a week later trying to cover up the evidence that you _killed_ somebody! You’re a sociopath, Dean. It’s like you’re not--.”  
  
Sam cuts himself off by biting his lip. _It’s like you’re not even my big brother anymore._ Although the words weren’t said, Dean still winced at what was clearly implied. Sam could feel his heart aching painfully in his chest. He shook his head in disbelief, causing his bangs to fall further into his face. Tears began to burn his eyes, but they were yet to fall. “I thought you were better than this. I thought I could _trust_ you. You said you would get better but then _this_ and I--.”  
  
Sam couldn’t stop his voice from quivering when he announced, “I-I’m done, Dean. With all of it. I’m going to go find Dad on my own.”  
  
It was then that Dean finally cracked. That his body finally _allowed_ Dean’s mask to break as he watched Sam slowly move towards the door of their hotel room. An emotion of what looked like anger hardened his expression as his entire body was shaking now. “ _Sam_ ,” He warned, his voice sounding loud in the dead silent room.  
  
Those words didn’t stop Sam. He only continued to make his way for the door, not even bothering to look back at Dean. Dean couldn’t stop his body from trembling there on the spot as his hands tightened and loosened in and out of fists. Panic surged through him and caused his heart to rattle sorely in his chest. “Sam, wait,” He half choked on the words.  
  
“No, Dean,” Sam defied sadly. “I’m not going to stand around and be lied to and watch you be a hypocrite. You’re so ready to kill anything remotely deadly and be rid of any monster around, yet you go off and murder for pleasure....That only makes you--.”  
  
The moment Sam had his hand on the doorknob and was opening up the door, he found himself getting jerked backwards. The dufflebag ended up getting flung off his shoulder and into the floor due to the force as Sam quickly found himself being shoved up against the door. Since it hadn’t been open all the way, the door didn’t exactly slam shut but it did click loudly back into place after Sam was pressed up against it. His hazel eyes were wide as an arm across his chest pinned him in place.  
  
Shock and _fear_ flickered on his face for a moment. Seeing the alarm on Sam’s face only made Dean’s hardened expression get twisted up with remorse. Oh God. Sam didn’t honestly think that he’d ever--ever--to him, right? _Right?_ Although the look of fear passed away as a calm, unreadable expression covered it, there was no covering up that it had been there. Even if it was just for a second, Sam had been _afraid_ of him. Hurt cut deep in Dean’s heart as he sucked in a heavy breath. His voice was still gruff however when he admitted, “I know, okay? I _know_ what that makes me, and I’m sorry but--.”  
  
“No, you’re not,” Sam accused quietly.  
  
Dean hesitated. While shifting his weight some before speaking again, he brushed the comment away and didn’t bother to deny or confirm it. His eyes slipped closed as he let out a burdensome sigh before focusing his attention back onto Sam’s face. Their eyes searched each other for a second before Dean tried to reason, “Sam, we’d have more luck finding Dad if we stick this out together.”  
  
Frustration was ripping at Sam’s insides again as his eyes narrowed. “Easy for you to say,” Sam snapped. “You think this is easy for me, Dean? Being here and having to see you like--?!”  
  
Unable to bring himself to say the words, Sam made animate arm gestures. As Dean watched and listened, it was becoming clearer and clearer that he was losing this battle and fast. “I can’t take this anymore, Dean!” Sam fumed, only stumbling once when the words caught in his throat. “It doesn’t matter what happened! This is _not_ okay!”  
  
Being completely fed up with the whole situation, Sam forced Dean off of him. There was a bit of a struggle with Dean trying to keep Sam in place, but Sam finally managed to shove Dean backwards and off of him. Blood had gotten wiped onto his coat from their small scuffle, but Sam didn’t bother with it right then. Right when Sam was ready to leave again, dismay broke out all over Dean’s face as he suddenly shouted, “Sam, _please!_ ”  
  
Sam’s eyes widened when Dean desperately reached out and grabbed hold of Sam’s wrists. He didn’t pin him to the door again or try to force him back further into the room. He just kept him in place as his eyes practically _screamed_ for Sam to look back at him. Maybe it was the sudden break in Dean’s usual character that froze Sam there, but he found himself unable to move for another reason that hadn’t to do with Dean’s hands holding him there.  
  
Sam clamped his mouth shut as he felt his heart swell in his chest. Those green eyes were wide with affliction clearly twisting Dean’s insides. The sight made Sam’s breath catch in his throat. Right then for those few seconds, Dean just looked so _miserable_. Sam couldn’t recall a time where Dean had looked like that before Sam had left for Standford, and a part of him didn’t even want to try to remember a time anywhere close to it.  
  
Then Dean inhaled a shaky breath and regained a more stable disposition. His lips pressed together into a small frown as he stared up at Sam. The oldest’s voice was even when he repeated calmly, “Please, Sam.”  
  
After letting out a heavy sigh, Dean informed him slowly, “I didn’t kill her.”  
  
“W-What?” Sam couldn’t stop the surprised and confused remark from softly coming off his tongue.  
  
“I didn’t kill her, Sam.”  
  
Sam’s mouth hung open for a few minutes as his brain tried to process what Dean had just said. A part of him wanted to say that Dean was lying, but that small part of him demolished the moment his hazel eyes searched Dean’s face. He was being _genuine_. Whatever he did do, which was still probably a lot, he hadn’t killed the woman he terrorized. Sam swallowed thickly before rasping in a hushed voice, “Why?”  
  
He couldn’t not ask. He had to know. It wasn’t like Dean _didn’t_ kill innocents. Hell, that was how Sam had found out about Dean’s dark hobby in the first place. He’d seen his brother wiping the blood of another man off of his hands and onto his wife beater after Dean had finished harassing and murdering him. The man’s whole body had been covered in gashes, stabs, and hefty amounts of his own blood. Sam had caught him doing this just a few days after their wendigo case at Black Water Ridge. That had only been about a month or so ago.  
  
When Dean pulled away from him, Sam ran his fingers over the faint blood smears that were now on his wrists. His thumb carelessly rubbed at his skin as if trying to brush it away into nothing but his own skin color again. Yet, his eyes didn’t leave Dean as he watched his brother take a few steps backwards and rub a hand over his head. “I don’t know,” Dean admitted truthfully and gave a half shrug. “I just couldn’t.”  
  
Sam let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in before giving a small nod, now completely accepting that Dean hadn’t killed anyone tonight. A thought lingered in the back of Sam’s mind as he wondered if Dean had killed anyone between the time when Sam had caught him and today. However, he didn’t ask, and he wasn’t going to. He was too relieved by the fact that Dean at least spared someone _tonight_. He didn’t want to ruin that comfort by asking him. Sam didn’t even want to hear about how Dean had made that poor woman suffer. He just needed to hold onto the fact that this victim wasn’t dead.  
  
There were some questions that he wouldn’t ask. There were details he didn’t need to know. All he wanted to be aware about was the black and white of the situation. Either Dean did something or he didn’t. Then if he could help it, Sam wanted to try to stop Dean from doing anything remotely harming in the future. Dean looked back up at Sam, and his brother’s words brought Sam out of his thoughts. “We can tackle this together, alright? Finding Dad, I mean, and I wasn’t lying. I’m _trying_ , Sam. I am trying, okay?”  
  
Sam wasn’t making eye contact with Dean. His attention was on the floor as he continued to rub subconsciously at his wrists. When Sam spoke next, his voice was level. “That’s not good enough.”  
  
Although Sam didn’t see it, Dean flinched at the unexpected comment. He could feel his heart sinking in his chest, but Sam’s gaze rose and he spoke before Dean could say anything. “You can’t lie like that to me, Dean. If I hadn’t of woken up, you wouldn’t have said a word. In the very _least_ , you’ve got to be upfront with me, okay?”  
  
The weight that was pushing down on Dean’s shoulders remained, but a lot of the tension erased from his body. With the way Sam was talking and with how he hadn’t walked out the door, Dean felt reassured that this meant Sam was deciding to stay. Well, staying was at least an option now. What Dean really wanted to say was that telling Sam about what was going on in his head wouldn’t make their situation better. At least, that’s how Dean saw it. It pained him enough to know that Sam was aware of just how fucked up Dean’s mind had gotten over the course of two years after his brother left for college. He didn’t want to inform him about the details of why or when or where or _anything_.  
  
Yet, the desire for Sam to stay was stronger than the latter want. Dean was still Dean however. He didn’t want to cave to Sam’s wishes just yet, especially when he didn’t necessarily agree with the offer. Stubbornly, Dean remarked, “As soon as you tell me what secret you told Mary.”  
  
Sam’s eyes widened a tad. “ _Dean_.”  
  
Yeah, Dean knew it was a stretch, but he _deserved_ to know, dammit. Especially after Sam had found out about _this_ deadly skeleton his the closet, Dean had the _right_ to know why Mary had come after Sam after Sam recited ‘Bloody Mary’ in the mirror at the antique shop just a few days ago. At the same time though, Dean had a good guess that Sam wasn’t exactly going to crack down and tell him about this either. He was going to at least throw that out there though.  
  
“I will,” Sam promised softly, despite how much Dean had thought he’d say otherwise. “Just...not right now, okay?”  
  
Dean shrugged halfheartedly and didn’t press the matter any farther. There was a soft light shining in Sam’s eyes, but the need for Dean to hear him out on his side of the argument was clearly showing on his face. “Dean, you have to promise me that you’ll be upfront with me about this.” He gave a quiet, humorless chuckle through his nose as he added, “And you have to try better than that, Dean. _Please._ Tell me you’ll try harder to not _hurt_ anyone. Promise me, Dean.”  
  
Dean bit his bottom lip. That wasn’t in any way an easy request. There was no way he’d be able to simply agree to that, snap his fingers, and make it happen smoothly. This side of him that Sam had the misfortune of seeing was unstable and unruly. Then he had gotten so used to caving into the desire to want to just _break_ someone _down_. All that pent up fury. All those held in emotions. All the hardships he carried. Sometimes he felt as if he couldn’t just stuff it all down anymore and bury it away. If he didn’t do anything to try to counteract this tension, he feared he’d explode.  
  
It was such a relief to get to release it all out. Sex was another great release for him, but sometimes casual sex just wasn’t _enough_. Dean couldn’t even begin to describe the kind of pleasure he found in running a blade teasingly down the side of someone’s neck, watching them writhe in distress, and hearing their muffled cries from behind their gag. The feeling was _enthralling_. Just to have that kind of power, not be on the butt end of cruelty, and getting to dish out pain for once instead of receiving it was satisfying in ways that sex just wasn’t for him anymore. Yet....  
  
“Promise me.”  
  
One look at Sam’s puppy-dog eyes however told Dean that it was going to have to start being enough again. Whether he backtracked or found something else, he was just going to have to. No matter how difficult this was going to be, Dean was going to have to force himself to take this task head on. That look cut him to the bone. He couldn’t say that there was no way. Dean couldn’t just roll over and say that he couldn’t. He was going to have to try. The world be damned, Dean was going to try.  
  
Dean’s jaw clenched and loosened a few times before he reassured quietly, “All right, Sammy. I promise.”  
  
Although it was still pained, a small smile formed on Sam’s lips. “Thank you.”  
  
The man walked over to pick up the dufflebag again and threw it back over his shoulder. As he readjusted the strap, Sam pointed out, “We should probably get out of town. If you didn’t kill her, they’ll probably find her in an hour or so. We shouldn’t chance sticking around.”  
  
“Yeah.” Dean nodded in agreement before turning back around to gather up his own belongings.  
  
Then that was that. Since it was easy to tell that Dean was exhausted and had been out all night, Sam insisted on driving the Impala. Sure, Sam hadn’t exactly gotten much sleep himself, but he was used to getting a few hours of rest. Dean gave a fuss about it, which was expected, but eventually let Sam get into the driver’s side of the car. The hum of the car over the road mixed with the quiet beats of Alice In Chains was relaxing as they headed out of town.  
  
Neither of them said a word after they left the motel. The atmosphere between them wasn’t exactly comfortable, but they managed. The journey that lied before them was going to be a rigorous one at best, and they both knew it. With black sunglasses now resting on his face, Dean curled up in the passenger seat with his head resting against the window. As Sam kept his gaze on the road, the faint, orange glow of morning began to lighten their surroundings as the sun began to rise. Despite the struggle they would have, they weren’t planning on backing out of it either. If they could find comfort in anything, they’d hinge onto the fact that if they crashed and burned, they were going to crash and burn together.


End file.
